


A Straightforward Invitation

by newredshoes



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newredshoes/pseuds/newredshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come, I have bested your brother on these grounds. Would you see if you fare better than him?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Straightforward Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, this started off as one thing and then it got too big to be that one thing, so now it's its own thing and yeah. Hi, I wrote a thing. Titles are the worst sometimes, I'm sorry!

Sif leaned harder into her knee. “I must have misheard. To whom do you yield?”

“You, my lady!” Fandral wheezed. “Sif, you’re hurting my spleen.”

“I haven’t showed you where your spleen is.” She stepped off, and Fandral rolled out from under her while Volstagg howled from the sidelines. She aimed a playful kick at the space just before his rear end. “Next time!” she crowed, and planted her spear in the dust.

“Well met, well met indeed!” Volstagg continued pounding his hands together in applause, while even Hogun gave Fandral the thinnest of smiles. Sif let herself feel the sweat drenching her gear, the pounding of her own blood, and grinned. Only one observer made no show of opinion. His stillness drew her eye; she swiveled toward him, still panting.

“Alas, Fandral, we are too poor an entertainment for Odin’s boy today.”

Loki propped his elbows on his knees. “Lady, not at all.” He spread the fingers of one hand with a lazy roll of the wrist. “Though it was over so soon — perhaps Hogun would be kind enough to last longer.” His mouth twitched as he said it; only his lower teeth showed as he spoke.

Sif’s shoulders tightened. That was ever his way — so snide, and so little to show for it. She kept up her own smile, and tilted her head.

“It was short, I’ll give it that.”

“Now see here—!” said Fandral.

“But it is much longer inside the ring than out.” She crooked an eyebrow. “Are you a fair judge of such a thing?”

“You imply that I have no experience.”

“You do not train with us,” she remarked, and slung the spear over her shoulders, hooking her arms around the shaft. He studied her; she watched him worry his palm with long, curling fingers.

“Was that an invitation?”

“To dirty your fine clothes, yes it was.”

Fandral sighed. “Sif, it’s nearly time. Gudrun will be here any minute, we should leave.”

Volstagg merely chuckled. Sif saw the others looking between her and Loki. She straightened, and stretched her arms all along the length of the spear. “Come, I have bested your brother on these grounds. Would you see if you fare better than him?”

“Your blood is up,” said Loki, not moving yet.

“That it is!” Her feet itched, but she held off from prowling.

He sat back. The close lines of his clothes gave him the long look of a bony hound. “You know I am no swordsman.”

“Let it be a weapon of your choice.” Sif let her teeth flash. To the side, Hogun crossed his arms. Loki rose, unfolding, all joints and limbs. Sif tongued the inside of her cheek. She would have thought he’d take more drawing. This might not be long, but it might not be dull either.

She tracked him, with his precise gait, the slope of his shoulders as he considered the arms rack, the twist of his mouth when he picked up a spear himself. Sif snorted. He crooked an eyebrow. “I thought I would defer to your good taste.”

“As you say.” With a practiced motion, she flipped her spear off her shoulders and held it lightly in her palms. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Loki dipped his chin. “Are you not?” He strolled forward, but did not invite the attack. Sif matched his steps, barring his way. He stopped again, his face schooled and smooth. Sweat already beaded along the sides of his nose. Sif waited. She knew that look: when he moved, he would think himself very fast.

“For pity’s sake,” Fandral muttered, quite loudly.

Sif struck out first. She swung for his knees, which he sidestepped easily. She aimed for his neck; he ducked. She laughed, once, to herself, her eyes on his. A muscle in his forehead twitched. He lashed out for her side; Sif blocked him and pushed him back.

Thor would have gone for her legs. It was the proper sequence to try and unseat someone so. Loki’s hands blurred; Sif saw the butt of his spear barreling toward her sternum. She lunged out of its way and plowed her shoulder into his chest. Solid muscle stopped her. Her eyes snapped open. His knees bent as he braced himself against her, perfectly in line with her half-protected belly. Sif bared her teeth, strained hard against him and, at an instant, dropped to the ground. Loki stumbled; she was already on her feet when he recovered his balance.

“Yes!” Volstagg punched the air. “Finish him!”

Sif was proud of her killing stroke. She loved the high leap and the moment before the collision. Loki looked straight up at her. With a sweep of his hips, he brought his leg crashing into her. She hit the dust with a grunt, the wind knocked out of her. Loki hopped to his feet again and approached her. “Are you satisfied, then?”

Sif hooked her ankle around his foot and kicked. Loki made an ungainly noise, which she filed away for future relish. She dropped her spear and scrabbled on top of him, facedown in the dirt. “I am satisfied when one of us has cause to concede,” she hissed.

“I would not deny you that.” She felt him wrench to the side before she saw his elbow come up. Even as she dodged it, she recognized the feint and watched him slide out from under her, his spear pointed outward. Sif pushed herself to her feet. Dust caked one half of Loki’s face: she kept waiting for him to brush it off, but he simply held her at spearpoint. She trained her eyes on his, and took a step toward him, and another.

“Well, isn’t this classic.”

Gudrun strode onto the grounds, unconcerned. Her hand rested easily on the sword at her side. Loki pulled back his spear, startled. Sif straightened at once. “Good afternoon, lady,” she said quickly.

“Good indeed. Look at the mess you’re leaving me here.” She gestured at the arena, swiping over the dirt with her shoe. “Son of Odin, I did not think you favored such pastimes.”

“An anatomy lesson, Lady Gudrun,” Loki said smoothly. “I am to be shown where my spleen is, apparently.”

Gudrun snorted. “Sif is a good instructor, then.” She jerked her chin. “Off you go, all of you. Playtime’s over.”

Sif collected her spear under Gundrun’s watchful eye. She hurried past Loki and did not meet his glances. The Warriors Three hauled themselves to their feet and met her at the foot of the seats. “A fine day,” Volstagg said to her, and even Fandral gave her a rueful smile.

Hogun hung back at the arms rack. “You should train with us,” he said, as Loki slipped his spear back into its slot. Loki furrowed his brow as he scrubbed at his cheek. Hogun did not budge. “You would fit in.”

“Thor would love it!” Volstagg cried. Fandral looked to Sif, who said nothing yet.

“I am not sure how suitable—” Loki began.

“No,” said Sif. “You should.” He looked at her. She lifted her chin. “There has not been a concession yet.”

Loki had composed himself again, all those lines ordered and arranged. Only his mouth twisted, just so. “As the lady says. It has, after all, been most entertaining.”


End file.
